


Sentimental

by Valaks



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Mission Fic, Stormbreaker more like Stormbroken, We’re Not So Different, Yassen Gregorovich is Lost, Yassen vs Technology, betrayal what betrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25155376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valaks/pseuds/Valaks
Summary: The doctor had assured him his prognosis was good. Yassen could not agree less. Memory loss was not a desirable trait in an asset/operative/assassin whatever he was. He needed answers - specifically, where was Hunter and what had happened over the last 15 years to turn him into what his mentor had said he could never become. [Spyfest 2020 Fic Exchange]
Comments: 11
Kudos: 103
Collections: Spyfest 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Prompt: Yassen gets injured and loses his memory, he believes that it's still the time period he worked with John**

  
  


He didn’t really register what woke him, there wasn’t a touch or a sound just a feeling of being watched. It was enough to have him moving to lash out only to be quickly stopped with a snap of metal and the tug of restraints. His thoughts raced - Handcuffs? He had been arrested, then? But why were they padded? He methodically catalogued the room, taking quick note of the exits - a single door and window, another door likely to an en suite and a petite woman standing in the doorway in scrubs, stethoscope wrapped around her neck. A hospital, he allowed himself to relax slightly. Not ideal, but certainly better than a jail cell.

His brain finally caught up. How had he gotten here? The last thing he remembered was sitting in his hotel room in Paris...a small cough brought his attention back to the door. The nurse. Right. His French wasn’t the best but he needed to at least try and fit in. “Bonjour” 

“Bonjour,” she returned in kind “I’m sorry for the restraints but with your reflexes...” She trailed off and he settled for nodding in understanding, unsure how to respond and unwilling to offer any information.

“Do you remember your name?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer that either, at least not without potentially incriminating himself. None of his prior identities were safe to use and he didn’t know what they had found him with since he didn’t remember how he got here in the first place. Though, if she was asking she probably didn’t know for sure either. A fake name it was then “Marcus Collette.” 

She pursed her lips in slight irritation. “That would be the 9th name you’ve given us, Mr. Collette. None of them have shown up in the system. We can’t get you in touch with your family if you do not cooperate.”

9 times? Who knows what he had said. Obviously not enough to get him arrested for killing Vosque or at the very least assisting with it no matter how useless he had been. 

“I’m sorry, I really don’t remember. That name feels familiar, though.” He said placatingly. 

A look of sympathy crossed her face “We’ll look it up and see if it might be a friend or someone you know but I’m not sure what country to look in. I take it you don’t remember where you might be from?” 

He shook his head and instantly regretted it, as a dull pain shot through him. What had happened? 

His confusion must have registered on his face because she continued “We’ve had to get a translator for you a few times…” she began

He immediately apologized “I’m sorry, my French is terrible.” 

The woman shot him a confused glance “Your French is flawless. You spoke several other languages quite fluently too.” 

It was only then that he realized he hadn’t stumbled over a single word. That wasn’t right. Hunter had just been smirking at him as he struggled to hold a conversation with the waitress in the cafe….wait where  _ was _ Hunter?

“Was there anyone else with me?”

“No, you came in alone. You were in a bad car crash. It’s a miracle you made it here, they found the car 3 kilometers away.”

That would explain the neck pain. But nothing else, the last thing he remembered was waiting for Hunter to finish his run so they could head to the airport. Had they gotten in a wreck on the way? Hunter had gotten away then. Or maybe hadn’t been with him at all. Something easily could have changed, maybe their covers had been blown or SCORPIA had discovered their plans. “Oh, was there anything found in the wreck that could help?” Or rephrased - was there anything incriminating.

“We found a wallet on you but there was no ID. No cell either. Just a keycard for a hotel and some cash. And a few knives…” she trailed off, hoping that it would trigger something. 

“I think...maybe I was in the military?” At least that would keep them away from thinking he was a criminal. 

She seemed to accept the explanation “That would make sense. I’ll tell the officers to check for missing servicemen then. They’d like to talk to you again but I doubt you remember much more than the last time.”

He shook his head ruefully “I wish I did.”

“Do you remember your date of birth, that could help us narrow it down.”

Did he? It’d been years since anyone had mentioned it. Sharkovsky hadn’t cared and the fact that he was such a blank slate was what attracted SCORPIA in the first place. She would expect a date, though. “March 9th 1978”

“33 then, a little older than we guessed you at.” She mused writing on the chart. 

33? He was 19. Had he lost that much time? A coma? But she spoke as if it had been recent. He looked at his hands as if expecting to find answers. There were more creases but they looked the same, a few more scars, maybe thicker callouses on his pointer fingers. Both fingers, he noted. No preference, Hunter had told him. He didn’t used to be ambidextrous, had he followed the man’s advice?

“It’ll come back.” She said softly “You got a pretty serious concussion when your head hit the steering wheel. Memory loss can occur but usually temporary. The doctor can explain it better. I’ll let him know you’re awake.” She hesitated at the door “Can you speak English? Some of the more technical terms are above me but if not I can get a translator.”

So they were somewhere English speaking, probably Britain but he couldn’t rule anywhere else out.

“I probably wouldn’t understand them in either language.” He switched to unaccented English and smiled easily, putting all of the Countess’ lessons in charm to use. “Is there any way I can get my wallet, it might help me remember more.”

“Sure, I’ll bring it in with the doctor.” 

England then. He wasn’t familiar enough to be able to tell much more than that based on her accent, Hunter would be able to but there was no way the man would come back to this country. Even after so many years. But then Hunter may not care. His last memories with the man were discussing how he could get away from SCORPIA. But that didn’t seem right, not with his reaction to her touching him or the lack of anything substantial in his wallet. The knives and callouses could just be caution from his time at Malogosto but something seemed off. Maybe he was still with them or at least on the run. Probably not from SCORPIA, if they wanted him found they would have caught him 15 years ago. He needed answers, maybe his wallet would help. He would be able to tell if it was one of Ross’ and if it was then he would have the lock pick he needed to get out of these cuffs if he couldn’t convince her to at least let him out of one.

A plan formed in his mind. Get a car. Find the hotel. Try and figure out what he was doing here and if he was hiding from someone. Get in contact with Hunter if he could. They had left on good terms last he remembered and he didn’t have anyone else that he trusted. Well, not that he remembered. It would have to be Hunter. 

He looked up when the doctor walked into the room, wincing slightly as his neck twinged in pain. 

“Mr. Collette?” The man’s bearing and tone reminded him a little of Dr. Steiner. Yassen took an immediate disliking to him. “My name is Dr. Henderson. We’ve chatted before but I doubt you remember?” He gingerly shook his head and the man continued “We’ll go through it again, then. You had quite the accident. You have some contusions across your chest where the seat belt was. Thank God you were wearing it or you wouldn’t be here right now. They’re healing well and should be mostly gone in another week or two. Same with your whiplash, how is it feeling today?” 

“Still sore, but manageable.”

“You said the same two days ago.” The man smiled “I’m thinking you were right about being a soldier. They’re the only ones stubborn like that.” Yassen looked accusingly at the nurse who just returned his gaze evenly. He supposed that discussing him with the doctor was part of her job. “Your head took the worst of it. You have a pretty nasty cut where you impacted the steering wheel. We put 6 stitches in that but they should be ready to come out in the next day or so. Outside of your immediate injuries you came to us in excellent health so your healing time should be pretty quick for your physical injuries. Your memory might take more time.”

Not good. Time was not a luxury he had right now. “How much time?”

“It varies from person to person.” The man shrugged, unapologetically unhelpful “Based on our interactions we believe you have a mix of anterograde and retrograde amnesia. Both are caused by damage to the memory storage area of the brain. They can be permanent but most cases resolve over time. The anterograde amnesia means you have difficulty forming new memories which would be why we’re having this conversation again and will likely have it a few more times.” 

Not if he had anything to say about it. He felt coherent, surely that was a good sign. Maybe he had felt that way before, hence the cuffs? But he doubted it. If he had tried to escape, some civilian hospital in England wasn’t going to stop him. 

“It can be helpful to write out the basics so you can avoid repeating but your notes tended to confuse you more so we agreed to skip that for now until you’re on more even footing. According to Angela you’ve been more responsive and cooperative this time which is a promising sign.” He turned to the nurse again who had the decency to flush this time. 

“We originally thought your amnesia was complete but with remembering your date of birth and possible occupation it appears to be resolving into retrograde amnesia. Memories from childhood and adolescence usually come back first, since those are the most ingrained. Most of the time the first to manifest are traumatic events so the process will not be easy and it might take several years to get all of your memories back if you get them back at all.” 

That explained why he was stuck at 19 - just out of adolescence and with his life about to change after failing as an assassin, facing death and a potential life on the run. Traumatic might be an understatement but it was how Dr. Steiner would no doubt describe it. “So where do we go from here?”

“We’ll get you referred to an occupational therapist to help with the anterograde amnesia and psychotherapist to help you cope until you, hopefully, get your memories back. Until then we’ll keep working with the police to locate your family and friends. Interacting with familiar people tends to help bring the memories back more quickly. The other bit of good news is amnesia usually involves facts rather than skills, that’s why you’ve been able to speak in so many different languages.”

“So I’ll still be able to drive. I just won’t remember how I learned it?”

“Yes, but you shouldn’t be behind the wheel with your anterograde amnesia, not to mention your track record.” 

He  _ really _ did not like this man. “I’m not too keen myself.” A lie. As soon as they left him alone he would be gone. Maybe not that soon, he would have to get a change of clothes first, a hospital gown would not help his chance of escape. Actually...he sized up the doctor, the man was slightly heavier than him but it could work….

“Do you have any questions?” 

“Not right now but if I think of any will you be around?”

“Of course, I’m on shift for another few hours. Just press the call button and Angela’ll grab me. If not, I'm sure we’ll talk again soon, likely about the same things.” The man joked.

He would not regret knocking him out at the very least, “Thank you, Dr. Henderson.”

The man smiled and he was out of the room. 

Angela approached, releasing the cuff on one of his wrists and handed him the wallet. “I hope it helps, if you need anything just buzz.” 

“Thank you. For this too.” He said with a grateful smile, holding up the wallet.

“Of course” she smiled and then she was out of the room. 

He studied the wallet. It was new, there were worn edges to try and age it but the fold was still sharply pressed and it didn’t have the wrinkles around it that would suggest he opened it frequently. Italian leather suggested he was either well off or, more likely, it was from SCORPIA. His thoughts were confirmed when he felt a tell tale metal rod near the stitching at the bottom by the stiff plastic holder where his ID should have been. He forced it through the leather to confirm. A lock pick. He certainly owed Gordon Ross or whoever was responsible for that idea now. 

He sat back heavily, he was still with SCORPIA then. Unless he had wrecked trying to get away from them. They would have found him, though, and he had obviously been here a while. A set of scrubs and an empty needle would have taken care of him long ago. So still with SCORPIA but off their radar or on assignment because they hadn’t sent anyone to find him yet. 

Maybe Hunter had helped him find a position that wasn’t an assassin? SCORPIA was a large enough organization that the skills from Malogosto would still be useful in other areas. Yassen hadn’t been entirely hopeless, just incapable of pulling the trigger. A glance at his hands suggested that had resolved. Maybe the rest of his appearance could give him some more answers.

He carefully pulled out the IV with movements more confident than he should have given that the only hospital he had been in was the clinic at Malagosto. He waited a minute to see if there was any reaction from the hospital staff but when no one came he unfastened the rest of the cuffs and slowly stood. His muscles were stiff from laying in bed but lacked the weakness that an extended time laying prone would have caused. He must have been allowed up at some point. A quick set of stretches relieved some of the achiness then he made his way to the en-suite. Oddly, the first thing he focused on was the razor straight scar on his neck. It had scarred like Hunter had predicted but it was thin and white, not too great a contrast against his pale skin as to be identifying for anyone other than himself and likely Hunter. The rest of him was littered with scars that were far more noticeable - a bullet hole in his calf, knife wound to his lower back, what could only be lash marks on his back and chest suggested he had been captured. A closer check of his nails showed scar tissue, they had been removed at least once. He would add that to the list of memories he did not want to get back along with the stories behind most of is other injuries. He was sure there were internal ones as well. If he had broken less than 5 bones he would be surprised. Satisfied that there was nothing else he could learn, he redressed himself.

So what did he know so far? He was 33. In England. Had been in a car accident that was serious enough to merit hospitalization and give him amnesia but not so serious that anyone else had been killed or injured or he would be under arrest and they would have mentioned that or at least left an officer with him. Likely on some form of mission with SCORPIA. Probably as an assassin, possibly something else. No one had visited which meant he was likely solo or assumed dead. 

‘Likely’

‘Possibly’

He would have to get used to that. He got the feeling there would be a lot of guesswork in his future. Still, it was a good start for 30 minutes of awareness. If he wanted more answers he wouldn’t find them here. 

He headed to the window. 4th floor so no jumping but every room had a fire exit map. A trip to the door and a quick glance at it revealed three possible avenues of escape depending on what he encountered outside the doors. He doubted it would be much but it never hurt to be prepared. There were plenty of cars in the parking lot that he could hotwire. Some were newer models but he recognized a few from his time too. He would go for those. Escape planned, he slipped back into bed, clasping the other cuff back on in case Angela returned. They likely wouldn’t notice but the element of surprise would only make his escape easier. He grabbed the wallet again. 300 pounds in various notes. Not enough to be remarkable but enough to get him around in an emergency. Nothing written on the notes, no clues from those. He thumbed out the only other thing in the wallet - the hotel key. Travelers Inn. A chain. Depending on what city they were in there might be a few of them. If he was even still in the same city. If he couldn’t find it here he would head to the next largest. SCORPIA operations likely wouldn’t take place in small towns. No room number, but if he was still in the business he could hazard a guess - second floor, overlooking the drive up to the front doors which would face the street, blinds open, do not disturb sign up. No specific room number - too predictable, but it would be enough of a start. Most hotels had their cleaning service close the blinds so he could narrow it down from that alone, the sign would only confirm it. 

He was ready to go. He pressed the call button and Angela was there after a minute. “Any luck?” She smiled 

“Maybe? Can I talk to Dr. Henderson? I think he might be able to help.” 

“Sure, I’ll grab him.” She darted out again. 

He slipped out of the cuff and moved to stand next to the door, closing it most of the way. Not enough to be suspicious but enough to give him cover. 

Three minutes later there was a crisp knock “Mr. Collette, Ange…” He was cut off abruptly as Yassen wrapped a strong arm around his throat and dragged him into his chest, forcing his head further into the arm with his right hand. With his windpipe cut off the man could do little other than thrash and scratch at his arm until the lack of oxygen took him under seconds later. Yassen quietly lowered him to the floor and softly shut the door. 

Undressing the man was its own challenge but a few minutes later he was an outfit and a set of keys richer. He dumped the body on the bed, not bothering to dress him, just pulling up the bedding to his neck and arranging him in a sleeping position facing away from the door. It wouldn’t hold up to any amount of scrutiny but it would pass a cursory look and give him more time. He indulged himself in a small bit of spite, clipping the cuffs on and moving the call button out of reach. Then he grabbed his chart and after a glance back to check the room, he was gone. 

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

He had apparently been out of town because there was no Traveler’s Inn in Zennor which meant he had to find it. To aid in his search he had borrowed a dusty and old looking phone book from behind the counter at a negligently staffed hotel. It covered all of Lands End and had 18 Traveler’s Inns listed but it was also 4 years out of date so there could be more. He kept an eye on the road signs, just in case and headed south along the coast towards the city of Lands End proper. 

But after 11 hotels, his hopes were dwindling as reality set in - there was no guarantee that the key was still active. For all he knew he could have only rented the room for one night to finish the job and left but it was all he had. There wasn’t really any other safe way to get the information. Computers had become more widespread since 1996, they were ubiquitous on every front desk and while the internet had likely grown with it he had no idea what to even look for. Searching Hunter’s name or his own would likely trigger something if not for an intelligence agency then within SCORPIA itself. For all he knew Hunter was on the Board by now and he still wasn’t sure of his own status. But if he couldn’t remember he would have to go back to Venice. It would be a death sentence. Memory loss was not a desirable trait in an asset/operative/assassin whatever he was. But he didn’t have much of a choice. It was the only place he knew for certain that someone possibly friendly would recognize him and hopefully not kill him. Ideally it wouldn’t come to that. He was giving himself three days. 

It was at a chance stop for petrol that he spotted it, a Travelers Inn. It was new, like most of the other establishments in the town. Port Tallon. The name held no meaning to him but neither had anything else he had run into. Obviously there had been some recent growth in the city which might merit a look if his room was here. 

He made the short drive to the parking lot and was relieved when he saw open curtains on the second floor. One was three down from the south end, the other in the middle over the portico. The portico room was unlikely but sometimes you didn’t have a choice. He parked and walked confidently through the lobby to the stairs on the south end. His heart leapt into his chest when he saw the do not disturb sign hanging on the door. His hair on the floor was a relief, the oldest trick in the book but not to be ignored. D’Arc had lectured. He slid his key in the lock and sagged in relief when the light flashed green. 

Nothing looked out of place. Not that he would remember but surely instinct would have picked something out if it had been wrong? He still found himself drifting to the fridge, maybe...he felt along the side and was rewarded with a small metal device. It was the same place he had put the one Ross had given him before New York but looked different. There was no tape, just a digital display with two large 0s and a play/pause button below it. He imagined the purpose was the same and the 0s were likely a sign that it recorded nothing. No one had entered the room then. He tried to look around for something else but unlike New York there was no alarm clock, just a thin black, glossy rectangular box on the desk and a laptop significantly thinner than the ones he remembered. He would try the laptop first. It was at least familiar. It powered on quickly but after the load screen it requested a password. It wasn’t even worth a try. If he had stayed alive for this long then he wouldn’t make it easy to guess and he certainly didn’t remember. Defeated, he shut it again and turned to the box. 

It was similar to the one he had found in Henderson’s pocket. Maybe a little newer. He ran his finger along the edges - two buttons on the side, volume, maybe? And a larger one on the top. He pressed it and the screen lit up with the time and date. The top right had a set of bars at an angle. A cell phone. They had changed a lot since the boxy plastic devices Ross had introduced them to. It was like a small computer. What now? He had no idea how to work it. The screen was clear of smudges that might give him direction and he was sure there would be a password here too. He set it back down. The screen went black then lit up. A line of numbers scrolled across the top and a keypad appeared at the bottom. Without thinking, typed in a set of numbers and swiped up then lifted the phone to his ear. 

He had remembered, he realized, he had remembered the password. He couldn’t recall it now but he could do it again. Maybe. If he was distracted, just going on instinct.

“Cossack.” His codename. Definitely still SCORPIA then.

“Yes.” Keep it simple

“You have not checked in.”

Panic surged through him, what to say “Things became complicated.” Efficient. Simple. Just like Hunter. 

“Operation status?” The voice pressed

“As I said, complicated.”

“You cannot speak now?”

“No.” Safer to wait, he needed time to try and figure this out. 

“Understood. Nile will be arriving with the shipment at 2AM, The coordinates have been loaded to your device. You will deliver your report then.”

“Understood.” 

The call ended and Yassen lowered the phone, glancing down he saw a box pop up at the top with a set of numbers, the coordinates, he grabbed the pen and paper on the desk and he hurriedly copied them down. The screen reverted to a series of colored boxes with different symbols in them. What must be the message one had a small red circle with an 8 listed in it. He tapped it. The message with the coordinates was at the top. Below it were two other boxes, in bold were a set of numbers - phone numbers, no names. The first just said “Status?” Nothing there. The second was a series of innocent questions that might come from a worried family member. He was likely supposed to respond with coded answers. Hopefully the call had taken care of that. 

He studied the questions looking for any clue or code but after a few seconds the screen went black and he let out a curse. Locked out. He would have to distract himself to get back in and even that was more hope than a guarantee that he could produce the same results. He doubted a failed password would go well, SCORPIA had taken security seriously before computers had taken off. It was probably worse now that everyone had a small one in their pocket. 

A break then. He had enough to look into. He needed to find out what these coordinates meant, then look into what had grown the town - whatever it was, it was likely why he was here in the first place. He set the phone back down and grabbed the notepad, hopefully they had a computer downstairs that he could use for the coordinates. Once he was done with that a drive around and maybe a visit to a pub would give him the answers he needed about the town.

The concierge directed him to a small glass room with the computer screen facing out. He was immediately on edge with his back exposed to the lobby but it couldn’t be helped, he needed answers. Accessing this computer was easy enough. A paper was taped to the edge of the screen with the username and password. Why bother with them then? He wondered as a grouping of colored boxes filled the screen. This was nothing like what had been covered by the experts brought in at Malogosto. At the time, he had learned information retrieval and hacking from some of the best in the world. They may as well have taught him how to hack a typewriter for all the good it would do him now. He sighed and studied the screen, there was a promising looking icon with a globe at the front. Globe for World Wide Web? He could only hope.

It turned out to be more intuitive than it had first appeared. 15 minutes after he started, he had his answers - the numbers had given him a location on the coast that he had even been able to print directions to after entering his current address. A search of the town name and “business” had revealed that Sayle Enterprises had built a computer manufacturing plant nearby. He fell down a rabbit hole researching the company and its leader. Was he supposed to assassinate him? Likely not. SCORPIA was delivering a shipment of something tonight, well, tomorrow morning to a location close to the plant. It had to be something illicit for SCORPIA to be involved but he had no idea what. He had not been with the organization long enough to be familiar with what it was capable of in 1996 let alone in 2011. The company and the owner didn’t give him many more answers. The man was by all accounts a genius and a philanthropist - the computers the plant was producing were being donated to all secondary schools in Britain. How could SCORPIA possibly help with that and with something that had to be delivered under the cover of darkness? He had no idea. But apparently he was supposed to based on the call. 

What to do? Maybe once upon a time he could have taken Hunter’s advice and hidden, left SCORPIA behind but that time had apparently long passed. He was still with them, had been likely for 15 years. He had Gordon Ross' wallet and recorder magnet to prove it. Then there was the phone call. He had been asked about the operation status which likely meant he was ranked high enough to be responsible for it. If his suspicions about the client were correct the operation was likely very lucrative. Hiring SCORPIA, even as a delivery service, would not come cheap. All signs pointed to him being responsible for a large operation, potentially worth millions. Whatever he had become over the last 15 years he was no longer insignificant and if he left, SCORPIA would come for him. Hunter, wherever he was, had been wrong about him - he had what it took. Yassen just wasn’t sure how he felt about that. 

And who was Nile? It was obviously a code name. Another operative? Likely ranked higher if he was to give a report to them. Hopefully they would identify themselves first because Yassen had no idea what to look for. But even as he thought that an image of a young man with white and black skin and two handles sticking up from his shoulders flashed across his mind’s eye. 

A memory. 

The sheer number of emotions that came with that idea made him dizzy. 

He needed more. Henderson had said that familiar people could help. Maybe he was right and if he was right about people then places might work too. He needed to do recon. The plant then the wharf. The plant had the most potential for memories, the wharf would likely be expected of someone in his position. Should anyone be watching it would show competence and might delay questions. It took him a minute to figure out how to clear the search history and then he powered off the computer. He needed to change into something more discreet and get some weapons, hopefully he had some in the room. A shower probably wouldn’t hurt either.


	3. Chapter 3

Yassen’s trip to the plant proved short lived and unfruitful. It was locked down tight. A veritable army of guards patrolled it which made sense given SCORPIAs presence and the imminent shipment. He couldn’t even get close enough to see the building more than just a rough white outline. If he had the time he would put the effort to find a similar looking employee. As it stood, it was not a priority. 

The wharf was no easier, namely because there was no wharf. Just an old stone jetty that jutted out into the ocean. He cased the area and, finding nothing, set up in the remains of a small shed just off the road. A sniper rifle would give him enough visibility without notifying his position. There had been a collapsible one in a bag in the closet. It was a new model. Not too different than the ones he was familiar with but enough that he anticipated he might struggle with it. He needn’t have worried. As soon as he had it in his hands it was assembled with efficient, precise motions. A bullet in the chamber before he even realized what he was doing. If there was any doubt that he was an assassin that had dispelled it. Not for the first time he wondered what had happened in the last 15 years. What had changed him from the failed trainee in Paris into an assassin? He doubted he would get any answers any time soon. 

Instead, he concentrated on the jetty. Nothing suspicious, no guards, no structures, no civilization anywhere near it. It was far enough out to put it into the deep waters of the Atlantic. Perhaps the shipment would come in on a large container ship but that was unlikely. It would draw too much attention stopping here and not at one of the larger ports. A smaller craft? But then why not use a wharf? It would be less suspicious. Port workers could be paid to look the other way. Sayle had the money and it would give some legitimacy. It must be something dangerous and illicit enough that the risk of it even possibly being discovered was not worth it. What then? 

Drugs? But how would that work with a computer?

Some kind of spying software? Sayle was a computer genius, he wouldn’t need SCORPIAs help with that. 

Weapons then. Bombs were easy to assemble, they wouldn’t require this level of secrecy and they certainly wouldn’t require SCORPIA. Unless they were dirty bombs. It was a possibility, but these were personal computers. If you were going to use a dirty bomb you did it in a sufficiently packed area, not individually. Just one then? It would have to be at the science museum but that meant getting past security for the Prime Minister. SCORPIA could certainly help with that but then why risk transporting it all the way from Cornwall and potentially implicating Sayle? Why deliver it to the plant at all? You wouldn’t want to pre assemble something like that. You wanted to keep it safely contained until the very last minute. He would have to get a look at the cargo before he could fully rule it out but it didn’t add up. It had to be something with the computers.

Yassen wasn’t familiar with much else that would require that much security and discretion. Maybe something had been invented, some other kind of weapon he was unaware of or maybe he was overlooking something. More likely - like everything else in his life right now - he didn’t have enough information. What he did have was plenty of time to consider it while he waited for the shipment and Nile to arrive. 

And how was he going to handle that? From what he gathered he had gone missing for at least two weeks, if not more. SCORPIA obviously hadn’t been notified or else he wouldn’t have received the phone call. If the operation was as big as he suspected then they would have wanted someone on the ground. Maybe they had sent someone but hadn’t thought to look for him. But then why wait and have him report to Nile?   
Maybe they had assumed he was dead. It would be a reasonable conclusion if he dropped off the face of the operation. It still wouldn’t explain why no one had been sent to take over. He must have given some kind of warning then. Of what he didn’t know. There was no hint of what it could be on his phone that he had seen. 

What did he know? He was in charge of an operation. With tight security. If he were to go missing it would likely be something to do with maintaining that? A spy? A leak? Those were reasonable assumptions. If he said he was tracking that down no one would blink twice. It would explain why he had gone missing. Just tell them he had gone to ground. That should handle Nile’s questions. Should. He didn’t have any better ideas, though, so there was nothing else to do but wait. 

Day turned to night which turned to morning. He knew it was close to time when several trucks and a car rumbled past him to the jetty. Should he go now? No. He would wait for Nile. The man would want answers and would make sure he could approach without being shot. He studied the horizon. It was all murky blackness. No lights to suggest a ship. His eyes caught on movement in the water and he quickly turned his scope to it. A turret and then a submarine. What could possibly require discretion enough that a nuclear submarine was the preferred means of transportation? It pulled up to a jetty and the top flipped open. He zeroed in on the figure. Nile. The area was awash in movement now as men jumped from the trucks and formed a line stretching across the jetty to the submarine. He waited with bated breath for the first glimpse of the shipment. A metal box, no larger than a toaster oven. No markings. No glass. Nothing. More appeared. All the same. 

He wasn’t going to get any more answers there. No sense in putting it off any longer. He stood, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and began the long walk to the jetty. The few guards that had been stationed around the trucks automatically tensed but seemed to recognize him or at least were aware that he was supposed to be there. 

He was almost to the jetty when Nile appeared to have spotted him and left his position at the top of the turret. He climbed gracefully down the ladder and Yassen took the time to study him - he was a few centimeters shorter than him, extremely fit and young. In his early 20s maybe? He walked with the same confidence and grace that Hunter had. He recognized it for what it was, the sign of a killer.

“Cossack!” He greeted enthusiastically “Where have you been?” 

How to respond? Respectful. Always safest with superiors. “Things became complicated, sir.” 

There was a puzzled look on his face. “Cossack are you…” Wrong thing to say. How to fix it? Keeping up appearances was a good enough excuse. He glanced off to the side at the men transporting the boxes toward the truck. A look of understanding flashed across the man’s face. “I see…we can discuss it later.”

They waited for the boxes to be loaded. He estimated there were likely 40, all told.   
He did his best to look intimidating as he shadowed Nile up and down the line. All was going well until a box was dropped and everyone froze. Definitely something dangerous then. Nile was a flash of motion as he sprinted over, checking the box thoroughly. 

“I’m sorr...” the guard began but before he could finish his statement there was a shot and the body arched back into the sea. After a moment’s hesitation the line was back in motion. This time with much more cautious movements. 

“So careless” Nile huffed quietly as he rejoined him. “Could have killed us all. We should have insisted on our own guards.”

He didn’t respond, just silently watched the loading process. This was apparently expected because Nile made no further comment about it and they resumed their vigil. A man and woman were standing silently by the car but kept glancing their way. They didn’t speak a word to each other, which was odd but not unheard of. They stood out though amongst the uniformed guards - the man with his crooked smile and suit with tails. The woman dressed primly if a bit severe. Not Sayle but definitely with him.

Nile seemed to notice it as well. “I take it you did not resume contact with the client.” 

“I thought it best to wait until you arrived.” He said vaguely but the statement seemed to mean more to the young man than Yassen had intended to communicate because his eyebrows knitted in concern. He didn’t react as though Yassen was a threat so he must have assumed it had to do more with the client than his own actions. Best to check. “I hope that is not a problem?”

“Of course not, Ms. Rothman trusts your judgment on such things.” There was a flash of something in his eyes. Respect? It was foreign to see that directed towards him. No one had ever respected him in his life. To see it coming from someone as dangerous as Nile meant it was hard earned, likely with a lot of blood involved. 

And that was another thing. Rothman. He didn’t know why he was surprised that he should apparently be working for her but he was. It did rule out Hunter being on the Board, though. He would like to think the man would not let him go so easily. Especially since he had somehow shaped him into an assassin after all. He wanted to ask, Nile was clearly high up enough to know but if he wasn’t working for Hunter that might be a sign too. There was no good way to approach it without garnering suspicion so he turned his attention back to the loading process. 

The ride back to the plant was silent as was the unloading. He had feared that Sayle would be there to greet them but they were left alone on the loading dock. The man and woman had long since disappeared. Likely due to the late hour and the assurance that the two SCORPIA operatives could manage the remainder of the delivery. He would have to interact with them eventually but he had been given a reprieve. At least for the night if not longer depending on whether he could convince Nile that all was well

The boxes were escorted underground to a large stone and metal room full of computers that appeared to him to already be assembled. He was no expert on current technology but he couldn’t see anything that seemed to be missing. Perhaps he had been right about the weapon then? Once the last box was placed, he watched as a group of men poured in all wearing full plastic suits, he felt his mouth dry out. The last time he had seen suits like that had been 5 years ago. In Estrov. He watched numbly as they unlatched a box and steam hissed out. Dry ice, he reasoned distantly and his fears were confirmed when they drew out a clear tube filled with liquid. Not a dirty bomb then. A chemical weapon. Surely he wouldn’t get involved in something like this? Not with his history. Unless he had forgotten Estrov. He couldn’t exactly rule that out given he currently had lost 15 years of his life. It was unlikely, though. Time changed people. 5 years had taken him from a school boy with dreams of being a helicopter pilot to an assassin trainee, a failed one as far as he remembered. 15 years had taken the failed trainee and turned him into an assassin worthy of the trust of a Board member and the respect of his peers. It had also apparently stripped him of any of the few morals he had left. 

What had happened? 

He was pulled from his thoughts when Nile nodded toward the hallway, and Yassen obediently followed. The young assassin confidently stopped outside a door and he briefly wondered how Nile knew the layout of the plant until the door was opened to a small storage cupboard. The door was shut and they went to the next without comment. He still marveled. Nile wasn’t familiar; he just did everything with such confidence that his competence was assumed. Yassen could respect that even if he could not imitate it. 

The next door yielded an office. A stiff wooden chair sat in front of a messy desk but Nile didn’t take a seat. Instead he just pulled out his phone and hit a few buttons, setting it on a stack of papers then rounded on him, arms crossed. 

“Explain, Cossack.”

“I had to tie up loose ends.” It was vague enough that maybe he could get by. 

“Rider wasn’t the only spy then?” 

Rider? His heart hammered in his chest. Not Hunter. Hunter wouldn’t be a spy. A SCORPIA agent turning on them during an operation would have merited a larger reaction and likely would have resulted in Yassen’s death as well. A relation. It had to be. It was too coincidental for it not to be. “No.”

“Why didn’t you check in?”

“I couldn’t.” 

“We were compromised then. I knew we couldn’t trust him, I told Ms. Rothman it was a risk but...” He shook his head and it took Yassen a moment to catch up. He was blaming the client. That...could work. “We should have known the moment you didn’t show up in Hong Kong but with your last message we assumed that you were handling things here. Why didn’t you notify us earlier?”

“I was handling the situation with MI6.” He knew it was wrong the moment it came out of his mouth. MI5 was the domestic arm but the mistake didn’t get any reaction from Nile. The man must have suspected that 6 was involved as well or maybe whoever this ‘Rider’ was worked for MI6. “As it dragged out I began to have suspicions but could not confirm them with enough certainty to risk endangering our relationship with the client.”

Nile nodded slowly “When was the last time you investigated here?” 

How long had it been? His chart had been dated two weeks prior. He would have to go with that “2 weeks.”

“There were that many leaks?” there was a note of alarm in his voice.

He settled for a nod. 

“You did report Rider had been here for 3 weeks...just before our set up team arrived.” The man mused. “For him to be put in place right when the contract had been finalized...Sayle had to have known.”

“I don’t have firm evidence…” he trailed off hoping it was suggestive enough.

“I will take a look around. A new set of eyes could prove…useful. Would you give me the tour?” 

He couldn’t. He didn’t know anything about the place and he couldn't fake it like Nile. “It would be suspicious, the client will expect one of us to be here at all times. I can remain to supervise the operation while you investigate.”

Nile nodded approvingly, shooting him an eager smile. “It’s a plan then. Rendezvous here at 10 to compare notes.” And with that he was gone. 

Yassen could not stop his sigh of relief. He had survived. He hadn’t given himself away. Nile had bought his vagaries and believed the client to be responsible. He could only hope that his luck would hold until the operation was over or until his memories were back. In reality he had 6 hours at the most before Nile came back wanting some more detailed answers. What a nightmare. He took another steadying breath and then left the room and headed back to the observation platform.


	4. Windows and Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yassen finds a window to the past, or is it a mirror?

Yassen did his best to avoid thinking about what it meant for the technicians below to be injecting what was obviously some sort of dangerous chemical into personal computers. Logically, he knew “dangerous chemical” was just a way of him coping with the fact that he was likely going to contribute to the deaths of thousands but right now he had enough to worry about trying to keep _himself_ alive rather than stopping a SCORPIA operation. But there was a very real part of him that kept going back to Estrov and kept seeing Leo in his mind’s eye - the diamond shaped sores and wheezing breaths and…he forced himself to focus on the plant floor. All seemed to be going well. The workers’ movements were careful and efficient. The machines were operating precisely. Everything was fine until he saw a shadow move out of the corner of his eye. The door opening down the passage, he realized and quickly stepped closer to the frame, out of direct line of sight and waited. The hallway was quiet, he couldn’t hear any footsteps. Perhaps they had turned back? He was proven wrong as a figure moved past him and then froze, registering his presence. Yassen was just as shocked. He had expected to see a guard or maybe Nile. What he did not expect was a child.

Why would a child be here? One was supposed to tour the plant, he recalled from his earlier research - Felix Lester but this could not possibly be him. He was looking at a small John Rider. John had told him in the Amazon he was having a child, a son. That was 15 years ago which would be about right. But what was Hunter’s son doing here without Hunter? And it was unmistakably his son, they were almost identical save for the obvious panic and fear in his eyes. And why would he be afraid? Maybe because he had been caught out but there was more to it. There was a flash of something, recognition? And then he shifted into a defensive stance that no child simply interested in computers would adopt in the face of being caught. He was threatened by him. He recognized him but did not know that he meant no harm. What had Hunter told him? What had happened between them? There was only one way to find out. Hunter had never told him what he was going to name his child but he didn’t have to know the first name.

“Rider” 

“Lester” the boy corrected. Did he not know who he was? Was he adopted? No. He was lying. 

“Didn’t your father teach you not to lie?”

“That would be a neat trick. He’s dead.” He felt ice run through his veins. Hunter? Dead? Maybe he was just talking about this Lester kid’s family. “Were you responsible for that too?” 

That was too personal, the emotions too intense to be anything other than the truth.

His confusion must have shown.

“Oh, did you forget you killed my uncle already? Ian Rider. You shot him but I suppose you do that a lot.” Rider. The spy. He had been the one Yassen had gone after. 

And then another Rider had shown up.

It was too coincidental. _Good instincts, Cossack. Nothing is a coincidence in this line of business._ Rothman. But he couldn’t remember that conversation. Another memory. He shook the thought out of his head. He didn’t want to believe that Hunter’s child was spying but there wasn’t any other conclusion to draw. Either way he had answers about Hunter and more importantly about Yassen himself. 

He latched a hand firmly around his bicep “I think we should have this discussion in private.”

“Take me anywhere and I’ll scream.” 

A child screaming would certainly get people’s attention but not the kind the spy would want. “And who do you think will help you? Sayle ordered your uncle killed. I doubt he would hesitate when I tell him who you are. If you come with me he need not know.”

“So I should trust the assassin who murdered my uncle not to kill me.” 

He had a point, Yassen mused. He needed answers, Malagosto had trained him on how to extract information. Dr. Three had even complimented his skills but there was no way he could use them on a child and especially not Hunter’s son. Maybe if he had his memories back he wouldn’t even blink at the idea but he didn’t. 

How to proceed then? The boy would be more inclined to provide them if he wasn’t forced. Against his better judgment he released him. “What reason do I have to lie to you? I know you are a spy and have infiltrated my operation, have known since the moment I first saw you.”

“How?” The boy interrupted.

“I knew your father very well and you’re a carbon copy of him. If I had wanted you dead, you would be. As it stands, I just want to talk. Now I suggest you come with me before you blow your cover and you force my hand.” The logic seemed to work because the boy obediently walked back through the door without any further prompting.

He returned to the same office he had vacated a few hours prior and directed him into the wooden chair, pulling out the pair of handcuffs and zip ties he had packed back in the hotel. _Always have a few zip ties on you, Cossack, you never know when they will come in handy._ Another memory but he couldn’t place the voice. He must have met them later on.

“Are those necessary?” He protested “I came with you, didn’t I?”

“Insurance.” Yassen returned, eyes narrowing when he saw the minute shift into a striking position “I do not want to hurt you, but I will if you make me.” Caught, the boy slumped into the chair and placed his wrists on the arm rest, fists clenched. He was well trained then. Definitely a spy.

He tapped the top of his hand “Unclench” he ordered and the boy obeyed without further complaint. He was restrained moments later with practiced, efficient movements, no longer the fumbling he had done with Vosque. His competence was becoming disturbing.

Satisfied, he stepped back and leaned against the edge of the desk. Best to start easy and compare notes “Tell me what you know of the operation.”

“No.”

“It is to your benefit to cooperate.”

“Or what? Going to beat it out of me?”

“I do not hurt children.”

“Then why are you working for Sayle? He wants to kill thousands of them.” The computers were going to secondary schools. In everything else he had forgotten about their intended purpose. They were going to poison, kill _children._

“Unless I am being paid.” He amended, which was news to him. It shouldn’t be, given that up until a few hours ago he would have sworn he hadn’t killed anyone either. Why would he take this assignment? He had to have known. After Estrov and Leo he shouldn’t have wanted anything to do with this. He supposed SCORPIA did not allow for morals and it was obvious that he had gotten rid of the few he was currently clinging to somewhere in the last 15 years. 

Hunter’s son looked disgusted with him and, to be honest, Yassen felt the same. “How much does it cost to be a psychopath?”

“I believe Sayle would have a better answer for you.” 

“Like you’re any better? You’re going to stand around and let it happen.”

“But I am not the one pulling the trigger.”

“You might as well be!” He was right but there wasn’t any way he could see to stop it and remain alive. Him living through the operation even if it was successful was still in question.

Another approach “As you have pointed out before, I am an assassin. I kill for money this is not that different.” Except that he didn’t kill, not that he remembered. And even if he did it wasn’t on this scale. 

“And how much did you get paid to kill my uncle?” The boy bit out. 

He shrugged, better than answering the likely truth - nothing. Ian Rider’s death was just part of the operation, there was no price on his head other than what he had put there by infiltrating and getting caught.

“And what about my Dad?”

“I would never kill Hunter.” He returned with more heat than he intended. 

“Hunter?”

“That was your father’s codename. He was my mentor years ago.” 

“But he worked for MI6.” 

“And who told you that?” The boy didn’t answer and he didn’t need to. “They lied. He worked for SCORPIA.” 

“Who?”

“My employer.”

“No he didn’t, he was a spy, a soldier, he protected people.”

“He was a soldier who was dishonorably discharged for killing a man in a bar fight and came to SCORPIA to make a living to support you and your mother. She likely didn’t know.” He offered, placatingly. Calling someone’s mother a liar was not a good way to get information and Yassen still needed to know what happened to Hunter and what they had told the boy about his own background.

“I wouldn’t know if she did or not since they were killed when I was a baby. They said it was a plane crash but they also said Ian died in a car accident.” He looked up fiercely “Was it you?”

And there it was, the cold truth. Hunter hadn’t reached out because he had been killed not long after Yassen’s last memory. Hunter was dead. Which meant Yassen was alone. And this boy was an orphan, one who probably wanted answers about his father as much as he did.

“No.” He said softly “Hunter was my mentor. He taught me everything I know. I owe my life to him.” He unconsciously touched the scar on his neck. “If he truly worked for MI6 he would have killed me. He would not have trained up an assassin to follow in his footsteps.” 

But he hadn’t. 

He had told Yassen to run. 

He cast the traitorous thoughts aside. That wasn’t Hunter’s fault. Yassen hadn’t been able to kill, something had obviously changed in between. He wasn’t sure what, but he knew Hunter was involved somehow.

That didn’t answer who killed Hunter. There were plenty of suspects, you didn’t work for SCORPIA without making enemies. But SCORPIA was usually enough of a threat in itself to dissuade all but the most powerful from acting on it. To strike against SCORPIA guaranteed retribution. Not many could weather that storm. An intelligence agency was certainly one and there was already a clear link…

“But if MI6 were aware that he had changed sides they would not hesitate to take out the threat.” He watched as the sentence ran through the boy’s mind and then a second later his eyes widened in realization. 

“Ian wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t kill his brother.”

“Perhaps he didn’t mean to. Maybe he told MI6 so they would try and extract him. Maybe he didn’t tell them at all and they found out purely through their communications. MI6 is not above spying on their own people. Ian was likely still new at the time, they would have been watching to ensure _he_ was loyal. Your father may have been picked up in that investigation.” 

“They wouldn’t do that.” 

Yassen would call him naive but even he didn’t sound convinced of his own words. Desperate was more likely. He should let the boy have his hope but if he was a spy then he would need to know his past or someone far crueler than Yassen would use it against him. 

“MI6 is an intelligence organization that is designed to protect Britain from external threats. Your father trained assassins for a terrorist organization.”

“You don’t have proof!”

Yassen arched an eyebrow but from his perspective all he had was his uncle’s murderer telling him all of this. Which was a problem in and of itself. MI6 knew he was here, had obviously warned the boy, but didn’t tell him who he was to Hunter. 

“What did they tell you about me?”

“That you killed my uncle.”

“Nothing else?”

“No, just that you were dangerous and to stay away.”

“They didn’t think to warn you that I would recognize you on sight? That could have been a deadly mistake.” He said evenly waiting for the boy to fill in the blanks

“Unless they knew that you wouldn’t harm me.” He snapped defensively before the logic caught up. Either Yassen was a deadly assassin who could recognize and kill him on sight and they didn’t warn him or Yassen was a deadly assassin who was trained by his father and could recognize him on sight and they _thought_ he wouldn’t kill him. They were not pleasant options. Either way they had gambled with the boy's life and were now, unwittingly, gambling with Yassen’s because the _last_ thing he needed on top of all this was having to keep Hunter’s son safe through it all.

His thoughts were interrupted by the boy “So they killed my parents.” He breathed, “Why both, why not just Dad?”

“Likely opportunity. Your father was very talented, he would not let his guard down easily. A bomb would be the simplest way to target him so long as you had a set location and if someone knew that he was flying…” 

“And now I work for them.” He said hollowly. 

Which raised its own set of questions. Namely, why did an intelligence agency put a child in the field? The fallout if it was discovered would be catastrophic. For MI6 to take that risk they must have had some confidence in his abilities. The only way he would have gotten those abilities was from his uncle. Who was a spy. For MI6. 

He bit out a curse in Russian, from the look of confusion the boy obviously didn’t understand. Small mercies. “You didn’t have a choice. You were raised by your uncle to be a spy for MI6.”

He was obviously startled at the news which meant he had no idea of the noose around his neck. This would not be a pleasant talk but he owed it to Hunter to get his son free from his killers. If he was fully aware of what they had done maybe he would say no next time they called. 

“No he didn’t. I didn’t even know _he_ was one until after you killed him.”

“And that’s when MI6 approached you?”

“To be fair I found them” 

Yassen scoffed. “An intelligence agency was found by the grieving teenager of one of its spies and sent him off on the same mission with two weeks worth of training? I find that hard to believe. Your stance alone told me that you have far more experience than that.”

“It’s just karate,” he shrugged. Yassen doubted that it was _just_ karate but it wasn’t worth the argument.

“I see…and no other skills? You walk quietly for a teenager. Stealth training too?”

“He showed me a little, said it would help if someone broke into the house.” 

“What else did he teach you ‘in case someone broke in’? Shooting? Concealment? Maybe how to escape - Picking locks? Handcuffs too?” He lifted his wrist, flexing it in imitation of the boy’s earlier attempt.

“He just wanted me to be safe. He had a dangerous job.” He said defensively. That was a yes, likely to all of his insinuations.

“Of course. One that took him away from home quite a bit for someone raising a child. You must have had a nanny then? Surely he would not take you with him.”

The boy flinched. He had then. Ian Rider had taken the boy on active missions. He had taken John Rider’s child and raised him to be a spy for MI6. The organization who had killed his parents. Likely on information from Ian. The guilt in his chest about having killed the man eased. Hunter certainly would have approved, he would have never wanted this for his son. He hadn’t even wished this life for _Yassen_ and they weren’t related by blood.

“He got a housekeeper but we went on holiday a couple of times a year.”

“If you are at all like your father, you are intelligent. How many holidays do you think spies get?” 

Silence. 

“And when you went on these ‘holidays’ nothing unusual happened? You didn’t see any strange people? You weren’t taught anything new? They were purely relaxing?” 

More silence.

“This is what your Uncle raised you for and MI6 did not even wait for his body to cool before they recruited you.”

His head snapped up from where he had been studying his lap to meet Yassen’s gaze, fury blazing in his eyes “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you!”

“Wouldn’t you? How much longer do you think they would have waited? There is no better cover than a child, Ian already had you well trained, just some finishing touches and you were ready for the field.”

“No. Ian would never do that!”

“Would you rather believe that he would have just kept taking you on missions without telling you about the danger he was putting you in? How altruistic of him.”

“Stop it! It’s not like that, Ian kept me safe!”

“Ian” he tasted the word, finally catching on to what had struck him as odd the entire time. “He didn’t even let you call him Uncle, did he? Do you know why I call your father Hunter and not John? To keep it impersonal. So if one of us were caught we would not reveal our relationship.”

He waited for the boy to deny it. Hoped he would. But there was just a tense silence.

“He trained you on what to do if you were captured too, didn’t he?” Yassen wanted to be sick. He was a _child_ \- 14 at the most. Yassen’s life had been changed at that age too but at least he _had_ a childhood to have ripped away from him by the streets of Moscow and then Sharkovsky. He had worked for his parents' killer too. Forcibly but…

He didn’t want to ask but he had to know. “Did they even give you the option of accepting this mission?”

“They did” He sounded defeated. There was more he wasn’t saying.

“But…” he needed the boy to fill this in himself. 

“I turned it down. They threatened to deport my housekeeper.”

“So you were blackmailed into it?” And that was somehow worse. At least when Sharkovsky had handed him the gun it was only his life that stood to be ruined. “How much are they paying you?”

“They’re not or at least we didn’t talk about it.”

“You are a slave then.” He said softly

“No!”

“What else would you call it? You are working a very dangerous job for no pay and without your consent.” 

The room fell into silence again

“We are not so different.” He said softly 

“You’re a _murderer_.” He didn’t feel like one, he didn’t remember killing but he couldn’t exactly disagree. 

“How do you think I became one?”

“Your parents didn’t love you?” He snarked

“They did. Until they were killed when I was 14.” 

That caught his attention. “What happened?” The heat was gone, replaced by curiosity.

He shouldn’t tell him. But he had just ripped apart the boy’s life in the course of a conversation. It was only fair and would hopefully earn his trust so that Yassen could get him away from MI6. The how could come later. “There was an accident at the plant where they worked. They were killed when the government came in to cover it up. They gave me enough time to get to safety. There were no other survivors.”

“I’m sorry”

He shrugged.

“So how _did_ you become an assassin?”

“I survived on the streets for a while until I got caught up with a very dangerous and powerful man. He gave me a choice.” That was one way to put it. But even though it had technically been 15 years ago it was only a few months for Yassen since he had been with Sharkovsky and the memories and emotions were still fresh. “Serve him and have a chance at living to see another day or he would kill me. He worked me brutally for four years until I was able to escape when I helped an assassin who came to kill him. The assassin took me back to SCORPIA. Shortly after your father took me under his wing.”

“You were a slave?” 

He nodded, it was only fair given that Yassen had called him the same. “I will not allow you to be one for MI6.”

“Because of my father.”

“No, not because of him. He would have never wanted this life for you but I would do this regardless. No one deserves to be in that position, especially not a child. I would do it for you...” he trailed off realizing that he never had asked the boy’s name.

“Alex.” He let out a bitter laugh “All of that and you didn’t even know my name.” 

“Alex, then.” He nodded

“What’s yours?”

“MI6 obviously told you my name.” 

“It’s not real, though, is it?”

It wasn’t. No one had asked after his real name in years. “Yasha, but no one has called me that since I was your age.”

The boy seemed to mull it over “Not nearly as intimidating.”

John had a sense of humor as well.

“Perhaps. I need to return to my post before I am missed.”

“Aren’t you going to let me go?”

“No. You will remain here until the operation is completed and I can get you away from MI6.”

“You can’t he’ll kill _thousands_ of children.”

“And I will have saved one. That is enough for my conscience.” It wasn’t, but the boy...Alex didn’t need to know that 

“I won’t let you.” He hissed.

“You think you can stop me?” 

Before he had been a mirror - scared, in over his head, exactly as Yassen had been, still was if he was being honest with himself. But now the similarities with Hunter were striking - same blonde hair if a bit long, same brown eyes, every bit as determined as his father’s that said he would if Yassen gave him the chance. That he would keep doing it even if it meant working with MI6. “I don’t have to. MI6 is already coming.” 

A bluff. 

He shook his head “This is why you don’t belong in this world, little Alex, you don’t know how to lie. Maybe one day I’ll show you.”

  
  
  


He stepped out of the room and quietly shut the door, making his way back to the platform. What now? He was supposed to be in charge of an operation to kill thousands of school children with a chemical weapon. He had been missing for two weeks after going after a spy and had no measurable results to show what he had done in that time but had insinuated the client was double crossing them. And his mentor’s orphaned son was tied up in a room working as a spy for and a slave to the organization that had killed his parents and Alex would continue to, if given the chance. The sheer weight of it all was staggering. There was no way he was making it out of this alive but what could he do? 

Run away and save the child? With what money and connections? SCORPIA would be relentless, especially if they knew of the boy’s skills. Worse, the boy wouldn’t go quietly.

Stop the operation then to convince him? It was too big and to try would be a death sentence since it would likely involve destroying the computers and the chemical which would undoubtedly infect them.

Stay the course and pray he would fool a suspicious Nile? Even if he could, there would be other assignments. Ones that would require an assassin of his caliber and he would have to pull the trigger to stay alive. 

He was hopelessly out of his depth. He had gotten as many answers as he likely would but was no closer to having a solution to his problems. His phone buzzed. 9:55. He was supposed to meet with Nile. In the room where Alex was. He was such an idiot. He sprinted to the room. He needed to move him but didn’t have time Nile did not strike him as someone who ever showed up late, he could be there any minute.

“I hope you are prepared to act. My supervisor is coming. If he feels you are aware of the operation in any way…” he trailed off.

“He’ll kill me. Yeah, I get that. Any tips?”

“Act scared and stupid. It should not be difficult for you.” The dry look told him that his attempt at humor was appreciated. He could gag the boy but Nile would want to talk with him and it would just make him angry. He needed Alex to have a clear head if they were going to make it through this. “The less you talk the better,” 

Alex seemed to consider that then nodded. The rest of the wait was spent in silence. Nile had been searching for likely non existent signs of betrayal for 5 hours now. It was morning which meant Sayle was up. Nile had probably talked to him and gotten his side of the story. There was no telling what conclusion he had come to. He supposed they would find out. 

Yassen was relieved when he only heard one set of soft footsteps in the hallway. Sayle’s men would not be capable of stealth. Just Nile then. Not that the thought was that comforting. For Nile to be in the position he was at his age he was likely very talented and just as deadly as Yassen was supposed to be. 

There were three stiff knocks and Yassen went to open the door before returning to his position leaning against the desk. Close enough to grab the chair and move him out of the way if need be. He doubted he would be given the chance.

“Cossack?” Nile asked, obviously confused by Alex’s presence.

What to say? “I found him just outside the entrance to the lab and secured him here until you returned.”

“The client did report that he was acting strangely, he might be a leak.” Yassen met Alex’s gaze. Definitely did not belong in this field.

“He is a scared child, perhaps a little too curious but he will not pose a problem.”

Nile walked slowly around him seeming to take him in, “He does not look like a computer whiz.”

“I believe we both know that appearances can be deceiving.” 

“Does he know?”

“No, he was only trying to get into the lab to play on the computer again before they shipped out.”

“He did not succeed?”

“He is a child.” 

The man shot him a knowing grin. “And we both know that age means nothing, not in this field.” He seemed to consider the situation for a minute. Yassen was acutely aware that neither he nor Alex had breathed. Finally he seemed to settle on something. “Even if he did not make it in, he is likely suspicious enough… he is a loose end. Kill him.” And Yassen realized with vivid clarity that Nile had never suspected Alex. Not really. This was a test for Yassen. Nile suspected him. Knew something was wrong. This soon? Or had he suspected the whole time?

“Wait! I’m supposed to be activating the computers with Mr. Sayle. It’s been in all the newspapers. If I’m not there people will ask questions.” 

“People get sick all the time, Felix. Perhaps the stomach flu, perhaps a death in the family...” 

Alex winced and Yassen froze. Maybe Nile _did_ know? The man was an impossible read but he wasn’t focused on Alex’s reaction, his attention was on Yassen, his eyes narrowed. His tension at the words must have made the man even suspicious. Not enough to kill him outright, though but enough that they weren’t going to dance around it anymore.

“You have been acting strange, Cossack. Me. Rothman feared that Rider’s death had compromised you. You apprenticed under his brother, maybe you wanted to stick with the family.” 

“I killed Ian Rider.”

“I am aware. We checked. But you still vanished for two weeks and then appear just as the shipment comes in. Rather odd, isn’t it?”

“There were loose ends that needed to be taken care of.”

“Then one more shouldn’t be a problem. Kill him.” There was a sadistic gleam in his eyes. “We are all aware of your little rule about children, Cossack. But Ms. Rothman’s patience with it has worn out. Kill him or I will kill you both.”

He likely still would even if Yassen could kill Alex. But he couldn’t. He hadn’t been able to kill Kathryn Davis or Vosque and they had been strangers. He stood no chance at killing Hunter’s child not with those familiar brown eyes staring fearfully up at him. 

He felt more than saw Nile go for his gun and flinched when he heard a gunshot less than a second later. Warm liquid splashed against his cheek and he looked up in horror only to see Alex Rider very much alive. How? He looked down at the gun in hand, smoke wisping out of the barrel. Then back up. Nile was slumped against the wall, a neat hole in his forehead.

_Just like Sharkovsky._

It was like a fire hose had been turned on. Memories poured in and he collapsed to his knees. 

Hunter. The batteries. MI6. _Betrayal_. Russia. Sharkovsky. 

“Yassen?” 

Rothman. SCORPIA. And a thousand kills. Each different but enough that they blurred together.

“Yassen?!”

Arriving at Sayle. An achingly familiar face. Then a car chase, a back road, gunshots and a crash. It blurred again - snapshots of hijacking a car, a highway at night and then walking into the hospital. 

“Yasha!” He looked up into the worried face of Alex Rider. 

They had never been compromised. 

He had. 

But if he wanted to live SCORPIA needed to believe that Sayle had sold them out. Fast. Because if the man _had_ sold them out he would never want the computers to leave the factory. 

He had his phone out in an instant. Rothman picked up quickly, she must have been concerned about the operation. “Cossack, status.”

“Sayle has been compromised. I am requesting a scrub team.”

“How?”

“He wanted out and planned to pin the operation on SCORPIA. He tipped off MI6 to send Ian Rider and planned to have me eliminated going after him before I could retrieve the shipment.”

“He alerted the port authorities then.” That explained why someone hadn’t been sent earlier - they were too busy averting disaster with the shipment. Good. That fit with his story then. Maybe he wasn’t too far off from the truth. The man seemed dogmatic in the few days he had worked with him prior to the accident but madness could be cured in the face of cold reality. The deaths of thousands of children was sobering to all but a true psychopath. Sayle might be that but Yassen would ensure no one would ever be certain. “How was this not caught sooner?”

She was angry but no real threat. More mad at the situation than him. She had negotiated with Sayle, the responsibility fell on her as well. He had only been on site for 2 days to ensure everything was prepared before he would retrieve the shipment. A separate team had been there in the weeks preceding laying the groundwork for the operation and monitoring the situation. Rider had been there the whole time through that process. The blame would likely fall on them. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I became suspicious the moment I saw Rider. Without the shipment arriving there was nothing connecting us directly. I focused on keeping the information from spreading further in MI6.” Let her take from that what she would.

“Your missing weeks, then.” She sounded accepting. “Where is Nile?”

“Killed. The presence of the virus would implicate Sayle as well. He needed to do damage control. I went to investigate further while he went to discuss it with Sayle.”

“He was one of our best.” There it was. Suspicion. 

Nile was her lieutenant. Yassen was being groomed for it before she had promoted Nile over him. He had been thankful at the time, was still thankful. He preferred to be as far away from Rothman as he could and ideally behind a scope if he had to be near her at all. But Rothman would see a failing operation that Yassen was supposed to handle and the convenient death of her Lieutenant. Jealousy, she would assume. He had certainly killed for less. 

“They were prepared. Malogosto trains for many things but there is little that can be done under assault from 20 guards in a closed room.”

She seemed to consider this. Sayle had hired his own private army in preparation for the operation. He certainly had the man power to do it and they were competent, hired from a competitor with no loyalty to SCORPIA. Likely on purpose in case he was double crossed. Or in case he wished to double cross them...

Julia Rothman was many things - brutal, cruel, sadistic, but above all she was practical. Logic would win with her. There was enough evidence in his favor for now. The rest could be faked before the scrub team arrived.

“Dispose of the body. Scrub all involvement. I’ll send a team.”

“And the computers? 

“Alert MI6 through a legitimate channel, frame Hezbollah for the virus. They can figure out the logistics of stopping it from there. And Cossack?”

“Yes?”

“Congratulations on your promotion.”

The line went dead.

It was the worst news he heard all week. Impressive given he had, until 5 minutes ago, thought he was 19 again. It wasn’t surprising, though. She had lost a lieutenant, Yassen had been her second choice and if he had killed Nile then he was talented enough to deserve the position. He would be safe, if miserable, so long as she never found out the truth about Sayle. It would be a lot of work but it would take a few hours for the team to get here from Venice. Plenty of time. 

He put his phone away which was cue enough for Alex to speak. “You’ll stop it then?”

He had almost forgotten him. Hunter’s child. Deciding what to do with him was a headache for another time. He had roughly 3 hours at the most to stop the production of the Stormbreakers, kill Sayle, dispose of Nile, and begin planting evidence. Alex Rider would have to wait. “Yes. But I will need to work quickly to do so in time. You will remain here.” 

The boy shot him a look, snapping the cuff taught to make a point. 

Yassen’s lip quirked involuntarily “You are resourceful. I am asking you to be patient while I handle the situation.”

“How do I know you won’t turn on me.”

“You don’t. You will have to trust me.” He said simply then left. 

  
  
  


5 hours later and the scrub team was almost through. It would be safe to alert MI6 which meant it was time to deal with their spy. He returned to the room to find Alex’s wrists bloody, the chair scooted up the desk. Paper splayed across the floor. He had tried to escape. Yassen couldn’t blame him, he would have done the same. He may have even stood a chance against someone with less experience, someone who would underestimate him. That was likely what MI6 counted on to keep him safe. 

Which brought up the question of what to do with him? A bullet would be a mercy if MI6 was using him, even more so if SCORPIA were to find out. Rothman would be eager to snatch him up. But even though his memories of Hunter’s betrayal had been restored he could not escape his impression of the boy - the same age he had been when he had been faced with impossible choices. Forced into work with the promise of death at every turn. He had wished for someone to step in then, now he could do that for someone else. How fitting that it be the son of his former mentor. He did not believe in fate but if he did then it likely had a sense of humor. 

“You will alert your handler of your findings.”

He looked confused “Handler?”

He should have known that term before they ever put him in the field. “Your contact?” 

“I’ll need my game boy.”

He arched an eyebrow. A gadget then. “Where is it?”

“Back pocket.” The boy blushed. Such a child. He efficiently freed it then released his wrist with a firm look. 

“I’ll need both hands. I can’t transmit directly. I can only send an image.”

Suspicious, but Yassen could humor him. He sorted through the desk for a paper and pen. 

“Write what you know, I will review it before you send it.” 

A few minutes later he was presented with a paper. It was sufficiently detailed to give them a chance to act against Sayle’s plan but had no direct references to him or SCORPIA. There was a faint ‘Y’ the boy had disguised in between some letters in the middle paragraph. It was likely a code to alert them that he was here, if there was one person MI6 would not want around Alex Rider it was Yassen Gregorovich. They had warned him, had made a code for if he was seen. The boy was planning on going back to them. 

He scratched it out.

While he was reading Alex was reaching slowly back, clearly telegraphing his moves to keep Yassen from getting suspicious and pulled a few plastic cartridges from his pocket. He set the paper on the desk while the boy started sorting through them with more thought than he should. 

“I would suggest you think carefully, Alex. The lives of thousands of children depend on you making the right choice.” It didn’t. Not a single computer had left the factory. Alex didn’t need to know that.

The boy settled on a cartridge and Yassen handed him the gameboy. He plugged it in the back of the machine and, after pressing a few buttons, held it above the paper. 

There was a flash of light and then a soft tone alerted him that it had been sent. Yassen produced the cuffs again and directed him to put his hands behind his back. 

“What? I’ve done everything you asked.”

“Insurance.” He shrugged, echoing his earlier statement, waiting for the boy to comply before snugly fastening the cuffs. “You tried to alert MI6 that I am here. Do you truly wish to remain with them?” 

He had at least had the decency to blush. “I don’t exactly have a choice.”

“We all have choices, Alex.” And hadn’t he already had this conversation? Years ago, he realized, in a rainforest but the roles had been reversed. “They will not let you go so easily but you do have choices.”

“I’m not seeing any. I’m not going with you. I’m not going to be a killer.”

“I would not expect you to nor do I want that for you. You will not be coming with me.”

He seemed surprised at the answer. “Why not?”

Perhaps it was unnecessary but he needed to make it perfectly clear that SCORPIA was just as, if not more dangerous for him than MI6. “There are many in SCORPIA who still remember your father, some not very fondly. If they did not kill you immediately they would jump at the chance to turn you into an assassin. You likely have the skills. Hunter was an expert marksman, I have not seen you shoot but I expect that you would be equally talented. Everything else could be taught. You say you do not want to kill now but with the right motivation and conditioning you would do it without hesitation.”

“They would brainwash me?”

“Not necessarily. That would be the kind way. But sleep deprivation can easily change a no into a yes. SCORPIA has the world’s foremost authority on torture on staff at their training facility. I imagine he would view turning a schoolboy into an assassin to be an exciting challenge. The on staff psychotherapist would also be interested. If you were lucky, you wouldn’t even realize they were doing it.”

“Not SCORPIA then.”

“No. Not SCORPIA. These are your options. Either way Alex Rider will die - in theory or in body. Stay with MI6 and you _will_ get killed. Maybe in a few months, maybe in a few years. I will not pull the trigger, but there are many who would and many more who would do things to you that would make you _wish_ they would. If you told anyone of SCORPIAs involvement in the operation it would be the latter.”

“Or?” he looked a bit sick at that. Good. He had gotten the point across. 

“Or I get you a new identity and you leave your life behind. You will be taken care of, well educated, and, most importantly, you will be safe. I will ensure you are protected from this world until you are old enough to make the decision to re-enter it if you wish.”

“So that’s your advice? Leave everything behind to save my own skin? Let Jack think I died just like my uncle?”

“I’m not advising you, I’m laying out the options” his father had told him the same thing years ago. But Yassen had been an adult, capable of deciding how to forge his own path. Alex was not. Could he really let him choose?

“Why the choice at all?” The boy echoed his thoughts.

“I was given one by a man many years ago. I am repaying that now.” It was a lie, a comfortable one. But a lie. Hunter had all but pushed him away from SCORPIA. Had betrayed him in the most brutal way, would have seen him killed. But Alex was not John Rider. Right now he was far more like Yassen - 14 and faced with impossible decisions that would change his life. Surrounded on all sides by people who would sell him out or see him killed. Alone. Except for Yassen who wanted very much to give him the chance that he had never been given. 

Alex would live. 

He would make sure of it. 

Even if the boy hated him for it.

“Dad?” He realized the boy was stalling. The twitches of his biceps told him he was picking the lock to the handcuffs. He must have realized that Yassen had made up his mind already, possibly before Yassen had even worked through it. Clever.

“Yes.” 

“And if I don’t like your choices?”

He almost had the lock picked. They would need to watch that. Somewhere secure, then. Somewhere he was not familiar enough with that he would be able to blend in if he did escape. He had some contacts in Russia that had done security work for some Oligarchs and their families. They might have a suggestion for where to put a rebellious teen who kept running away from home.

Yassen turned his back to grab the needle he had brought for this purpose. As he anticipated, Alex took the opportunity and lunged. He was pinned on the ground in seconds. 

“If you do not like my choices then I get to choose for you, little Alex.” He said casually as he uncapped the needle. 

“You were going to anyways.” The boy said through gritted teeth as he struggled 

“Yes, I suppose I was.” he mused as he checked for air bubbles. “But it would have been easier if you had made the correct choice on your own. As it is, I will have to keep you safe from MI6 and yourself.” Alex began trying to fight his hold in earnest. “Fighting will only make this more unpleasant. I do not want to hurt you.” He seemed to realize the inevitability of the situation and stopped.

Yassen took the chance and emptied the needle into his arm, ignoring the betrayal in his eyes. Seconds later he slumped bonelessly to the floor.

Yassen waited, checking his pulse before standing and studying the sleeping boy. This entire operation had been a disaster and the fallout would linger over him for years. Life as Julia Rothman’s lieutenant would not be pleasant. But perhaps it had not been _all_ bad. Alex Rider would be safe. He would not be a slave to Alan Blunt and, with any luck, he would never truly appreciate just what a gift and a mercy that was. Yassen would never be able to see him again, not without drawing attention from SCORPIA or his enemies. Maybe in a few years Alex would find him to repay him for making this choice, like he had found Sharkovsky, but until then he would be safe and that would be enough for Yassen.

Years ago in a quiet restaurant in Venice John Rider had told him that sentimentality was the last thing you can afford in this business. Yassen Gregorovich had done many things in his life to prove John Rider wrong. Perhaps one more wouldn’t hurt. 

  
  
  
  


Epilogue: 

It had been months since he had woken up in a Military academy with a man talking to him in a thick Russian accent. Alex had decided there and then that he was going to kill Yassen Gregorovich. He had tried to escape to exact his revenge, had almost made it but had eventually given up. The punishments exacted had been brutal. He decided to lay low until the cloud of suspicion had passed over him. Despite the language barrier he rose quickly in the ranks - he received top marks in the classroom and in the field. The picture of a model student and maybe that is why he had been called to the Commandants Office. 

An important general had come to visit earlier today and had paid particular attention to Alex, well Alexei as they called him here.

He stood at attention before the table the men were reclining around.

“Alexei Gregorovich, sir.” The Commandant introduced

The man stood and circled him. Alex was used to that by now and he hated himself for it.

“You remind me much of my son, he was not much older than you when he joined the military.” Was. Dead then. “From what the commandant has told me you share a lot in common.” He sat back down and picked up a folder.

“Your records show you have adapted well despite the language barrier - top of your class, exceptional marksman, and a natural leader. Perhaps a more personalized training would benefit you? Would you be interested in that?”

A chance at escape. He could work with that. 

“I would like to reach my full potential sir. I would...I would…” Immersion had helped him with most things but thanking was not common here

“ценить is the word you are looking for, Alexei. I will ensure you have tutors to fill in the rest. Do you have any personal effects?” 

“No sir” 

“Then let us go, we have a long flight ahead of us. It will be quite the change but I think you will like Cuba.” Alex agreed winter was coming and he did not want to be in Russia to experience it.

* * *

Yassen eyed the report from Sveltsgrad critically. It continued to show excellent results but it looked the same as the last four including the small black photocopy stain that smeared across his marksmanship score. Something was wrong. It took 4 phone calls to find out what - Alex Rider was missing, had been taken without his permission. He needed more information on this General Sarov before he made a decision on how to act. A quick email had a team of SCORPIAs best analysts determining the potential of forming a business relationship with the man. Perhaps he was just a benevolent man who had seen Alex’s potential but somehow he doubted that. You don’t just take in a 14 year old on a whim. More likely, the man knew who Alex really was and wanted revenge on Hunter or he knew that Alex was connected to Yassen and wanted revenge on him. Neither was acceptable. He had promised Alex that he would keep him out of his world. Promised that he would be safe. Yassen did not break his promises. In 24 hours he would have a complete evaluation of the man. Alex had made it this long, he could wait until then. 


End file.
